


Alternate Tender Required

by Justley



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Rick, Cliche, M/M, Mechanic!Daryl, Rickyl Writers' Group, cockchallenge fic, top!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justley/pseuds/Justley
Summary: Rick needs some work done on his car, Dale's garage is the best in town and of course he promises to get 'his man' on the job asap.(Or: the totally cliche garage fuck)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBlackRoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackRoom/gifts).



> This my contribution to the Rickyl Writers group 'Cockchallenge' wherein we aim to provide a somewhat more in depth description of, well, cock. 
> 
>  
> 
> Before you all read, I'd firstly like to thank the ever-wonderful Marooncamaro for talking me though this over the nights and also for brit-unpicking it without laughing at me for my excessive use of English words. 
> 
>  
> 
> And of course this is dedicated to Theblackroom because he is my amazing smut-brother, who quite kindly gave me this little bunny to run away with.
> 
> I love him and his dirty, dirty mind.
> 
>  
> 
> *also, this isn't beta'd so you know, there'll be mistakes. Just pretend they aren't there*

What started off as an odd grinding noise that would come and go every now and then, issuing from the front of the old Honda Rick drives has quickly turned into a constant sound that is relentless and causes the car to shudder every time he tries to take a corner and he knows he can’t put off taking it into the garage for a checkup any longer. He coaxes the engine, stroking the steering wheel gently, his faithful friend has never let him down yet. _c’mon baby, just a little bit further_ , he thinks as he caresses the edge of the dashboard with his fingertips. Dale’s garage is only another few blocks away and if he takes it really easy hopefully he won’t do anymore damage to her. It’s just his luck that he gets stopped by every streetlight on the way there, each one getting him more and more wound up. It’d been a long day at work and he’d been looking forward to getting home and grabbing a quick shower before starting his evening. Now he’s going to have to try and get to the garage before it shuts for the night, find himself a cab or walk back to the apartment shaving a good hour or two off his already stunted night.  
  
Eventually, he cautiously pulls into the parking lot taking the turn as slowly as he can without risking stalling and gets it parked in one of the empty garage bays. As he hastily gets out, not bothering to lock the doors behind him, he’s met by a man who looks to be in his mid-sixties with a kind smile, a shirt that looks like it wouldn’t be out of place on a beach in Florida and a bucket hat sat high on his head of thinning grey hair.  
  
“Evening son, havin’ a bit of car troubles?” The man calls to him as he makes his way across the asphalt, holding out his hand for Rick to take. He explains to the man who introduces himself as the one and only Dale Horvath, the owner himself, what’s been going wrong with his car and hands over the keys. Dale seems like a good sort and he’s had great reviews for the repair work he does here, low cost, quick turn around. Surprising there aren’t more cars waiting outside to be fixed. After filling out some paperwork and handing over his contact details Dale uses the garage phone to call Rick a cab, telling him that he’d get ‘his man’ to have a look at it first thing in the morning and he’d get in touch as soon as she was ready to be picked up.  
  
True to his word, Dale calls Rick the very next day around 2pm to tell him that the car is ready for pick up anytime he’s free. It’s yet another swelteringly hot day and the sun hurts his eyes as it glares off the concrete parking bay’s out in front of the garage as the cab pulls away. For the second day in a row all the customer parking slots are empty, proof of how near to closing time it is no doubt or a testament to how efficient they are. The only vehicle out here other than his own is a sleek black triumph with classic silver trim, adorned with a rather sexy looking leather seat and matching leather and metal studded panniers on each side. Rick resists the urge to run his palm over the handles as they jut out, shining in the sunlight and just begging to be touched. It reminds him of being in high school all of a sudden and a carefree, reckless feeling washes over him.  
  
There’s a bell resting on the top of the door leading into the reception and it jingles loudly in the still air as he pushes against the metal frame that’s warm to the touch from being in the direct sun all day. The AC blasts into him as he sets his first foot inside and it sends a shiver down his spine as the cool air washes over the fabric that clings to his muscles from the sweat that’s accumulated there over the last hour or so since he left the station. It’s a hot summer's day in the south and he’s already undone the top three buttons of his light blue shirt allowing some of his salt and pepper tinted curls to poke out from the V with a hint of perspiration just beginning to make itself known over the ridges of his collar bones. it’s not just his shirt that’s struggling with the heat, as he catches his reflection in the glass he can see his normally rather tame waves have gone wild and turned into unruly curls, they look as though he’s spent the last few hours with his face buried in a pillow getting thoroughly wrecked. He stands there for a moment trying desperately to flatten them with his still slightly damp palms but he’s fighting a losing battle, _that’s about as good as they’re gonna get_ , he thinks as he pushes the door closed, the loud bell startling him once more.  
  
Rick jumps in shock when he turns around, his hand flying up to his chest and a small breathy noise escapes from between his lips because, where a moment ago there was an empty desk with just a computer, a card machine, a stack of magazines and a folder of paperwork lying on top; there now stands a man. A mechanic by the state of the dark grey coveralls he has on, covered in oil and grease stains, tiny tears in the fabric around the collar and the pocket ripped at one of the seams. He’s got a wrench in one hand, a greasy rag in the other and is slowly pulling the fabric up and down the shiny metal tool.  
  
“Jesus, you scared the shit outta me,” Rick breaths heavily pushing his hair back from his face where it’d fallen forward as he jumped. He can’t blame himself for being spooked, this guy evidently moves as silent as a fleck of pollen on the breeze, either that or he’d been hiding underneath the counter ready to pounce at the sound of the bell. His eyes finally make their way up to the guys face and he’s taken aback by the narrow gaze that he finds roaming over Rick’s body, flicking up from his hips to the space where his chest is still exposed and finally meeting his own eyes. He can’t tell quite what color they are from this distance, not when the man’s eyelids are almost shut in something close to a suspicious squint. He feels a quick rush of self-confidence, wondering whether his body lives up to the scrutiny of that piercing gaze before shaking it off with a subtle shake of his head.  
  
“Help ya with somthin’? The man asks suddenly, cocking his head to the side and watching as Rick wipes his slightly damp palms down across his hips in an attempt at drying them on his jeans before taking a few steps towards the counter. Rick offers his hand out, leaning forward over the desk.  
  
“Rick Grimes,” He says and the man flicks his eyes to the proffered hand before tucking the cloth into his back pocket and wiping his own hand down the front of his overalls. Rick’s attention is caught by the movement of the oil stained knuckles dragging across the ratty fabric over the narrow expanse of the man’s waist line. He notices then, the glaringly obvious hip to shoulder ratio on the body before him. His chest, so very wide yet seemingly not overly muscular the hips narrow, almost delicate creating a lovely taped Y shaped body that suddenly has him wondering what this man looks like when he’s stripped down and laid bare. The palm that grasps his own is large but not huge. Fingers that are calloused from working with them constantly, chafe against his own smooth hands but the grip is firm and the man lets it linger for just half a heartbeat longer than most southern men would. Rick braces himself against the desk when he gets his hand back and cocks his hip against the edge, still leaning in slightly. It’s a stance he usually reserves for when he’s out on the weekend and having his drinks bought for him but there’s just something in that look from the eyes he now sees are like a sun lightened denim speckled around the edges with tiny flecks of darker, almost navy blue. _Stunning_ .  
  
“I’m here to pick up my car? Dale called earlier and said it would be ready,” Rick finally explains, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up past his elbow where it’s started slipping back down towards his wrist. He has nice, strong forearms or so he’s been told on more than one occasion and he’s more than happy to show them off now under the pretense of it being damned hot today.  
  
“Name’s Daryl,” The man offers pulling the rag back from his pocket and resuming the very suggestive cleaning of the wrench still gripped tightly in his hand. Rick licks his lips because they’ve suddenly gone very dry and tries to tell himself it’s the dry air blasting out of the AC. Definitely nothing to do with that mouth or the way he’s working that wrench. He watches as Daryl walks around the counter, grabbing a slip of paper as he moves. He nods his head towards the exit indicating that Rick should follow and reaches for the door, setting the bell off once more.  
  
“S’this yers?” He grunts, walking over to Rick’s piece of shit Honda and pacing around it in a wide circle, hands still running over the wrench with the rag. Rick watches him quietly assessing the vehicle and realizes now, just how Daryl had managed to sneak up on him. He moves with the grace of a panther stalking prey, silent and lithe with an underlying sense of something dark and dangerous. _I’d bet my next paycheck on that bike being his._ The mental image of this Daryl straddling the beautiful machine sends a tingling rush through his body all the way down to his dick. _Fuck it’s been too long since the last time you got some Rick,_ he chastises himself as the image quickly switches to him being bent over the bike with his trousers pooled around his ankles and two thick work-rough fingers buried deep inside him.  
  
“Yeah, she’s ready. Worked on ‘er myself,” He says as Rick tears his vacant stare away from the bike and concentrates on the man in front of him. When Daryl speaks, it’s with a hint of pride and a tiny uplift to the left of his mouth which emphasizes the small beauty spot peeking out under a short, scraggly smattering of facial hair. Daryl’s fingers trace over the hood as he walks around the car leaving a clean line in the thin layer of dust that’s settled along the paint work but he keeps his eyes trained on Rick’s face as he moves. Rick can’t quite tell whether he’s being sized up or seduced, the look he’s getting is too ambiguous. He knows that down here men like him still need to be careful, it’s not like living in New York where you can wear your sexuality on your sleeve and have the freedom to hit on guys without worrying too much about getting a tire iron to the back of your skull for your troubles. Subtlety is the key but sometimes it’s just so goddamn hard to tell. When he’s spending his Friday night down at The Lot it’s easy, it’s a low key bar that caters for men like him, gay guys looking to relax, buy a good looking guy a drink and not have to look over his shoulder the whole time. Out in the real world though? Sometimes he thinks someone is giving him the eye, at the bank or down an almost empty isle of the supermarket but they never look like this guy.  
  
While Rick’s been lost in his own head, Daryl has walked all the way around the car and come to stand beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder. Rick can feel the additional heat radiating from where Daryl’s broad shoulders are almost touching his, can smell the oil, cigarettes and the faint traces of exhaust fumes that permeate the air around him. He sucks a quick breath in, inhaling the strong scent mixed in with the dust and dirt of the ground below him. Steals a quick side glance and notices a slight smirk flitting across the mechanics lips as he feels Rick’s gaze on him.  
  
“So,” Rick starts hearing his voice come out in a low, rough cadence that surprises him. He clears his throat and tries to ignore the faint flush of embarrassment that slowly works it’s way up his neck and across his cheekbones. “Uh, what was wrong with her?”  
  
“Shitty bearings, easy ta fix if ya know what ya doin” Daryl nods back towards the reception and heads back in, not looking behind him to check whether Rick follows or not. He does, of course he does and he watches the slight sway of narrow hips, the extremely masculine way Daryl’s arms swing as he moves, that effortless rolling gait. Daryl is a virile man with almost delicate features, odd in their composition but that just adds to his attractiveness. His body is hard and well defined, _definitely all man_ but with a lithe sort of grace to it that lends itself to something a touch more feminine. Rick is drawn in, following with vacant eyes that see nothing but possibilities stretched out before him. _I’m not leaving until he agrees to go for a drink with me_ , he thinks to himself as he watches Daryl make his way back behind the desk and slides over the invoice detailing the work that’s been done and what the price of repair is. An after work drink at a bar, that’s something that can easily be passed off as simply two men enjoying a cold beer together if Daryl isn’t into guys but is a clear offer of _more_ if he is.  
  
Rick studies the paperwork while Daryl disappears out of the office and back into the bowels of the garage and after a moment or two of waiting he hears a tap running, the unmistakable clattering of tools being set aside and Daryl washing his hands followed by the distinct sounds of Daryl rummaging through various drawers, scattering the contents and slamming them back shut again. He’s got everything signed by the time Daryl returns and only then realizes with a quick pat down that he doesn’t have his wallet on him.  
  
“Fuck. fuck.” Rick breathes harshly through gritted teeth while scrubbing a hand along his jaw and turning uselessly to look at his car through the large glass window, as if the car is to blame for him losing his shit. Rick turns back around to apologize to Daryl, to explain that he must’ve left his wallet in the cab on the ride over; to tell him he’ll have to ring the cab company and see if someone's handed it in. Instead he’s left staring slack jawed because Daryl has re-entered the office with wet hair slicked back away from his face, accentuating those cheekbones and _Jesus christ his eyes are so fucking blue_ . He’s tugged the zip on his coveralls down and Rick’s eyes roam over the sun kissed skin that is so enticingly on show for him, little droplets of sweat or water from his impromptu wash cling to the hollow of his throat and Rick is hit with the overwhelming desire to run his tongue through it and taste it all. _Fuck, those collarbones._ Rick tries to form some sort of coherent sentence, tries to lift his eyes up from the hint of wiry hair that sits just at the apex of the opening but he’s struggling. He’s thrown by a sudden rush of desire for the man standing before him, smirking at him, Rick notices as he finally manages to tear his eyes back up to Daryl's face. He’s eternally grateful that he’s not easily embarrassed. If he were, he knows he’d be blushing like a high school cheerleader faced with her first college crush.  
  
“Must’ve left my damn wallet in the cab on the ride over, I know you gotta close up now but can you keep her for me until tomorrow?” Rick finally manages to say already reaching for his phone to pull up the cab company’s number and find out where his wallet ended up, if he’s lucky he can get them to drive it back over to him.    
  
“Left it in the cab huh?” Daryl says, his voice quiet, rough; sexy, Rick’s not-so helpful brain provides.  
  
“Yeah, paid the guy, must’ve left it on the seat. Look I’m sorry to waste your time. Let me make it up to you by taking you out for a beer?” Rick gives himself a mental pat on the back for inadvertently steering their conversation in the right direction and returns the light smile that he see’s flit over Daryl's face at the suggestion.  
  
“How ya gonna take me out fer a beer if ya ain’t got yer wallet on ya?” Daryl points out, his grin turning slightly wicked in a way that makes Rick’s stomach clench while at the same time making him feel like a complete idiot. His mouth opens and closes stupidly while he struggles to get his brain to connect with his vocal cords but Daryl beats him to it. “I’ll let ya take me out fer a drink,” he says, his gritty voice still low and sounding more sensual than any man has a right to. Daryl walks his way across the office and starts pulling the blind cords down one at a time, slowly throwing the reception into a soft shade of blue as the sunlight filters through the fabric. Rick watches his hips move, watches the dirty coveralls shift around his ass as he paces around and only starts when he sees Daryl reach for the lock and turn it with a click that echoes through the room.  
  
Rick's heart stutters and his tongue slips out, brushing along his bottom lip that has suddenly gone dry from the heated look that Daryl throws his way as he turns around and takes two very purposeful steps towards Rick. He stops just close enough for Rick to see the little flecks of grey hair hidden in the dirty blonde scruff that covers his chin and jawline and Rick can smell him for fucks sake. The slick cloying coat of oil that clings to the stained coveralls tingles the inside of Rick’s nose, there’s the almost sweet layer of hard earned sweat that he can practically taste along the front edge of his tongue as his lips part without him even realizing. Daryl takes another step forward, his eyes narrowed again and staring down at Rick’s open mouth and spit wet lips. Rick can smell the smallest suggestion of cologne, no doubt long worn off after a day working underneath the body of a car and just the faintest hint of rust, almost bitter on his tongue. Rick knows what’s about to happen, knows it just by seeing how very dark those blue eyes have suddenly become, or the way Daryl’s slightly exposed chest seems to heave just a little heavier with each breath or how the fingers on Daryl's right hand clench and unclench subtly where it hangs stiff at his side.  
  
Rick waits patiently for a few frantic heartbeats, waiting for Daryl to make a move; to lean forward and take what Rick is quite obviously offering. His eyes flick quickly over Daryl’s lips, down the tantalizing line of his neck and onto the shimmering tan skin stretched across his prominent clavicle. Daryl doesn’t move, his jaw muscles flex as teeth grind into each other and Rick wonders whether Daryl is having second thoughts or whether they were actually on the same page at all. Tentatively, he reaches a hand out and lightly brushes his fingertips along the top of Daryl's clenched knuckles, feeling the heat of Daryl’s skin against his own and he watches as a tiny shiver runs through Daryl’s body at the contact. Rick cocks his head to one side slightly, _is this what you want?_ He tries to ask with his eyes, allowing the lust coursing through him to seep into his pupils leaving no doubt at all exactly what he’s asking for. It works, obviously, because with a ragged and harsh exhale and a quick twist Daryl is suddenly grasping Rick’s hand in a tight fist and pinning it against the desk. His other hand moves to Rick’s hip, fingers slipping cautiously underneath Rick’s shirt and brushing against the skin along the waistband of his jeans, the tip of Daryl’s pinky dipping underneath the rough denim and scraping lightly along the elastic of his boxers.    
  
A full body tremor runs right under Rick’s skin as Daryl’s fingernail drags against his flesh and his hips automatically jerk forward with the sensation. He’s inches away from Daryl now and without conscious thought he leans forward, his wrist still pinned to the desk pulling his arm back slightly, just enough to feel the stretch as he turns and brushes his nose along the juncture between Daryl's neck and his jaw. Rick breaths in, taking a deep lungful of Daryl’s unique scent, stronger now he’s so close and pungent enough to stimulate the rapid filling of his dick inside his jeans. When Daryl turns his head sharply and captures Rick’s mouth in a slow, hesitant brush of lips, when his hand clenches almost painfully around Rick’s fingers, and his nails dig into the skin of along Rick’s hip, he feels himself pulse and push hard so hard against his jeans that he can feel the harsh metal teeth of the zip digging into his flesh.  
  
The contrast between the gentle, almost unsure way that Daryl's thin scruff-coated lips press against his own and the desperate grip Daryl has on Rick’s hand sets a tremble down Rick’s spine, he’d expected to be pushed up against the desk and thoroughly devoured but instead it’s as if Daryl is asking for permission with his mouth. Rick is more than happy to give this man anything he wants as long as he gets those stained hands all over his body. He tilts his hips forward ever so slightly at the same time he parts his lips and gently licks at the seam of Daryl’s mouth. Then Daryl is on him, hands grasping desperately at the damp fabric of his shirt, pulling it tight across Rick’s chest as if he were about to rip it in two. Daryl’s lips aren’t passive any longer, they’re desperate and frantic as they move against Rick’s own. His tongue, fuck. Slick and strong, pushing behind Rick’s mouth and demanding entrance, leaving a hint of mint and the strong tang of second hand smoke behind as he pulls back for air. He doesn’t go far though, leaves his hips pressed tight against Rick’s own and Rick can feel the outline of Daryl’s dick pushing against his and all of a sudden his clothes feel like they are too tight, too rough against his overheated skin.  
  
“Shit you taste good,” Daryl breaths against Rick’s lax mouth and Rick takes the opportunity to lean to one side and get himself a taste of the flushed skin covering Daryl’s neck, dragging his tongue up the from his pulse point to lick along the bottom edge of his ear lobe. The rough hiss of breath that slips out between Daryl’s lips is loud against Rick’s ear but he barely notices because Daryl’s skin tastes amazing. _I want to taste him all over, lick across his biceps and run my tongue through his chest hair, see whether it tastes as good as it looks._ Rick reclaims control of his hands and reaches forward, grabbing the zipper and tugging it down, exposing Daryl’s chest and stomach. He leans in and let's his lips follow the motion of the zip, dragging his tongue through the light dusting of coarse hair that covers Daryl's breast bone and glistens with moisture from the heat. It tastes sweet, salty and utterly fucking delicious. He lets his hands roam over the exposed skin, fervently following the path his tongue carves across the gleaming flesh and grins at the gentle vibrations of Daryl's low moans against his mouth as he works downwards until his knees hit the ground and his eyes are level with Daryl's crotch. He can see through the heavy duty fabric the generous outline of the his hardness and glances up at the man now towering over him with lust filled eyes, dark and hungry with only a hint of hesitation clouding his iris’.  
  
A tiny nod, a gentle inhale of breath and a quick flash of pink tongue from Daryl is all the permission Rick needs to pull the zipper down further. He gently tugs at the fabric either side of the opening in a silent request for Daryl to slip his arms out and give him room to work, to free Daryl's hard dick from his clothing and get himself a taste. Less than a heartbeat and Daryl obliges, the fabric pools below his narrow waist, resting just low enough to show off the subtle V of hips, the dark blonde wiry down that sits between his legs. Daryl is trimmed, just lightly, either that or the hair that covers his body doesn't grow wild and free like Rick’s own. It's fascinating to see against Daryl's pale white skin, the contrast here, under the waistline that’s kept hidden from the sun it creates a stark difference to the sun kissed skin across his upper body.  
  
Rick runs his tongue lightly through the sparse hair, enjoying the scraping of it as it bristles against his lips and catches on the light stubble across his chin. The musky scent that fills his nose as he breaths against Daryl’s skin makes his dick throb and the hairs across his bare forearms stand up sending a light tingling along his skin. He loves the smell of a hard working man, hates the overpowering cologne that soaks over the guys he meets on the weekend. A barely audible groan from above jolts him back to attention, he reaches a hand inside the narrow opening and wraps his fingers around Daryl’s hot flesh, feels it pulse in his grip as he tightens his fist and works it out into the open.  
  
Daryl’s cock is easily one of the prettiest he’s seen to date, the base is covered in more of that dark blonde fuzz and is a soft shade of peach, almost the exact same color of the skin surrounding it. It gradually gets darker towards the tip which is a deep pink, bordering on red around the prominent ridge circling the head. Rick leans forward and runs his lips around it, feeling the texture of the glands, just gently teasing before pulling back to drag the flat of his tongue across the slit and tasting the soft hint of precome that’s already started to seep out. He caresses the subtle veins that run up the shaft and can feel the throbbing of Daryl’s pulse under his fingertips. Daryl is cut, like most men Rick has been with and he spends a moment lapping at the exposed, flushed frenulum and holding back a satisfied smirk when he feels a tremor ripple through Daryl's thighs with the friction. Done with teasing, Rick slips the leaking head into his mouth and slowly slides down the shaft, keeping his lips tight against Daryl’s skin; tight enough that he can feel the veiny ridges as he sinks lower. He lets the spongy head brush against his soft palate and sinks down further still until it bumps against the back of his throat and his nose is practically pressed into Daryl’s groin.  
  
Daryl shudders above him as Rick breaths that arousing smell in one more time before slowly making his way back up and with a single strong lick against the head and a gentle squeeze around the base of Daryl’s shaft he pulls himself to standing once more and finds himself yanked against Daryl’s growling mouth by a large hand gripping the back of his neck while the other drops to his belt and starts tearing it open. Rick lets himself be kissed, hungrily and with an edge of desperation, angling his body away from Daryl’s just enough to give the man’s hand enough room to work his jeans open and push them down.  
  
“Fuuuuck,” It slips out of Rick’s mouth against Daryl’s open, panting lips in a sound more like a groan than a fully formed word as Daryl’s knuckles brush against him and shoves the harsh denim down over his ass to pool around his ankles. His boxers come next, dragging along his neglected cock and making it twinge in a pathetic display of desperation. Rick shifts his weight so that he can start to pry off his boots one by one, discarding them hastily and stumbling a little as he steps one leg out of his jeans before canting his hips forward to rub his dick alongside Daryl's, moaning as the wet that still seeps from Daryl’s cock slides over his own and begins to cool against his overheated flesh as they rut against one another.  
  
The silky skin of Daryl’s cut dick feels like satin against Rick’s intact foreskin, stretched tight now with how hard he is, only a tiny sliver of it still clinging desperately to the tip. As he rubs himself against Daryl, it pulls back, teasing the glands around the head and flicking deliciously against his nerve endings as it rolls back and forth over the lip and spreads their combined slick between them. Daryl is nipping and licking at Rick’s throat, growling low and almost inaudibly as they grind against each other, sending waves of arousal shooting through his veins. He has to watch, has to see what they look like rubbing against each other. He tilts his head, glancing down between them watching himself sliding along Daryl’s rapidly darkening skin, the way his own deep pink head pushes in and out of it’s darker foreskin as they move together, leak together and he can feel Daryl twitching against him. The contrast between Daryl's muted, light down and his darker, wiry thatch is a pretty sight and Rick reaches down to take them both in hand.  
  
He doesn’t even get his hand anywhere close before his wrist is once again caught in a bruising grip and Daryl stays him with an almost feral look in his eye. They’re both panting hard and fast against each other and Rick is close enough to feel it as Daryl’s eyelashes flutter closed for just a moment and he takes a deep, steadying breath; squeezing Rick’s knuckles one more time before looking him right in the eye. There’s not one ounce of hesitation left in those dilated, denim flecked pupils only desperate lust and determination and it makes Rick’s knees feel as though the bones have turned into soft cartilage and will soon fail to hold him upright.  
  
“Turn around,” Daryl spits out between gritted teeth and Rick has a quick view of the sweat dripping steadily down the side of his face, approaching his jaw and has a moment of regret that he won’t get a chance to run his tongue through the droplets before he does as he’s told and turns himself around. He quickly braces himself against the desk with clenching fingers that dig into the wood veneer and lets his head drop slightly in an attempt to calm his wildly beating heart into a rhythm that won’t have his head spinning and him threatening to tip over the edge of orgasm quite so soon.  
  
“Don’t got lube,” Daryl’s raspy voice, accent thicker with lust, wraps around him making his heartbeat pound harder once more as a slippery finger brushes up against his entrance. Rick glances over his shoulder with a questioning look only to spot a small tub of vaseline balancing in the palm of Daryl’s free hand. _Of course, no lube but vaseline is something all mechanics keep around right? And wasn’t Daryl just using the same grease to slick up the wrench?_ Rick turns back to the counter once more, leaning forward and pushing his ass into Daryl's palm in a blatant invitation. He’s rewarded when the tub of slick is thrown unceremoniously onto the desk beside him and Daryl’s now free hand lands in between his shoulder blades, pushing him down further so that his ass is open and on display.  
  
One long, calloused finger starts to rub in circles around Rick’s hole, teasing lightly and making him clench and relax in anticipation. The rough pad presses into him briefly, withdrawing and rubbing over the puckered skin before dropping down to cup and tug gently at his balls making him hiss in a desperate whine at the tease. The digit drags back up once more, tantalizingly slow and Rick almost gives in and wraps a hand around himself. Instead he digs his nails harder into the counter beneath him and grits his teeth as the finger tip finally pushes past the tight muscle and twists.  
  
“Fuck yer ass is fuckin’ gorgeous,” Daryl whispers as he works his finger deeper, pushing in up to the knuckle and dragging it back out again. “Could lick you inside and out until you come on just my tongue.” The words are so rough, so quiet that Rick isn’t even sure Daryl’s speaking to him. “Shove my tongue in that pretty pink hole and taste ya till ya can’t take it no more.” Rick can feel his cock dripping and his asshole quivering with every word that falls from those kiss swollen lips behind him and he jolts forward as Daryl pushes in with a second finger and starts to scissor him open; pulling at his walls and stretching him out.  
  
“Shit!” Rick grunts as both fingers catch the edge of his prostate, threatening to take his legs out from underneath him and leave him in a gasping mess on the ground. He rocks back and forth on Daryl’s hand, riding his knuckles and aching to be filled already. Little grunts escape his throat as he works himself backwards, his dick hanging heavy between his legs and begging to be touched. _Not yet, it won’t take much; too close already_ . His mind whips around the words and he lets a relieved breath out when a third finger presses against him, requesting entrance. This one burns as it pushes in alongside the first two but Daryl’s hand curls into a fist in the fabric across his shoulders, nails lightly scratching against the skin beneath and it’s a perfectly timed gesture that grounds him and helps him to relax his muscles.    
  
“Jus’ one more,” Daryl pants behind him and rubs his own aching length against Rick’s ass cheeks, brushing against the fingers that are twisting and pushing their way inside his body. Rick had thought the steady dripping of his own cock was a lot but Daryl’s slides easily over his skin, slipping in his own precome and twitching even more out against the fine hairs coating Rick’s cheeks. _Fuck if this goes on much longer I’ll never get him inside me before I come all over the fucking desk_ . Rick’s brain yells at him and he’s done with foreplay.  
  
“Enough, I’m ready,” He pants turning his head slightly and catching sight of Daryl's flushed pink face, pinched tight with the effort of this torturous preparation. “Come on, now!” He growls, then winces as Daryl’s fingers are pulled from his body leaving him empty and clenching as his entrance tries to tighten itself back up.  
  
The fist that was gripped tight around the shirt between Rick’s shoulder blades let’s go and grabs a hold of the sweat soaked curls at the base of his neck and pulls, forcing his back and neck to arch as Daryl’s free hand, still slippery and heated from stretching Rick out wrap around Daryl’s cock and he feels the blunt head pressing forward, putting long awaited pressure where he so desperately needs it. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the flared head pushes in and stills as Rick tenses around it, clenching down and causing Daryl’s hold on his hair to tighten and a low growl rumbles deep and spine tingling across his back. Rick can feel his muscles fluttering around Daryl’s cock and he grimaces with a tight jaw as he concentrates on relaxing enough to allow the intrusion. Daryl’s seven or eight inches feel a lot closer to ten as he slowly presses further and further into Rick’s body. He can feel the sweat running between his shoulder blades, can see the droplets landing on the desk below him, his forehead mere inches off the surface. Then he feels the gentle brush of Daryl’s thighs against his ass and feels the shudder ripple through the body behind him as he’s finally fully seated. _Fuck, that feels good. Tight, so full_ . Rick tries to make the words leave his lips but all that comes out are heaving pants and a tight, strangled noise.  
  
“Shit,” Daryl whispers behind him as he starts to drag himself backwards, pulling at Rick’s ring and brushing along his prostate in a slow grind that makes Rick tighten his throat around a needy whimper. His own erection had begun to flag just a tiny bit as Daryl breached him but Rick can feel the blood returning quickly, filling it to capacity and making it pulse and twitch more precome out of the tip. He leans all his weight on his left arm and reaches down with his right to grab hold and gently tease his foreskin back and forth, keeping time with Daryl as he begins to thrust in and out. Daryl quickly sets a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out on each retreat and snapping forward, his thighs making contact with Rick’s body and each time he hits that spot inside Rick that makes him leak more, makes his balls twitch and his toes curl against the floor. It’s already the best fuck he’s had in years; dirty, rough and completely unexpected. So much hotter than hooking up with some guy in a bar and after just a few moments of deep fucking he’s close, his dick throbbing desperately within his fist and he can feel the evidence of his arousal dripping over his knuckles each time he twists around the tip.  
  
The muscles in Rick’s back start to tense and his supporting arm begins to quiver with the strain of holding his weight so he pushes away from the desk, straightening himself up a little while his fist continues tugging at the cock within its grasp, the cock that seems harder than it’s ever been before. Daryl shifts behind him and his thrusts stutter for a moment before strong arms wrap around Rick’s torso, pulling him flush against Daryl’s chest and oil stained fingers deftly pop open two buttons on Rick’s shirt. Daryl’s hand slips inside as he starts thrusting harder now and his heavy, labored breaths come sharp and strained against Rick’s ear. Those calloused fingers find a stiff nipple and start to tug against it causing Rick to jerk suddenly, shouting out something that almost sounds like a word, a prayer or a desperate plea for more. With Daryl pressed so close behind him, Rick can hear every single grunt that slips from the man's lips, can smell the thick scent of sex now mixed in with the motor oil, sweat and cigarettes that oozes from Daryl’s skin and makes his mouth water.  
  
Rick lets his head drop once more, looking down his chest at the corded forearm, scarred and stained, that’s worked its way inside his shirt; pulling and rubbing his nipple in maddeningly perfect circles. His eyes follow the motions and then drift down to where the shiny, soaked head of his own cock slips in and out of the tight ring of his fist; his foreskin stretched tight to capacity now and only just meeting the desperately red, swollen meatus that oozes sticky fluid.  
  
A particularly filthy sound in Rick’s ear has him teetering on the edge and his fingers grip tight at the base of his cock, desperately trying to hold off the inevitable. He loses his resolve the moment Daryl’s fingers still against him, when his arm tightens and crushes him against Daryl’s chest. When teeth graze against the soft spot behind his ear and hips push hard into his ass, forcing Daryl’s cock in as far as it can go. Then Daryl's free hand flies down and grabs hold of Rick’s dick brushing his fingers away and starting to jerk him with a furious pace.  
  
Rick can’t take it for long, his cock starts pulsing and the long groan that releases itself from his throat sounds dirty and almost painful. Then he can feel Daryl’s dick grinding into him as it begins to pulse and Daryl whispers strained curses against his neck. He can feel the hot sticky fluid coating his insides at the exact moment his own orgasm hits him and he paints the desk, Daryl’s knuckles, the floor and his still, sock-covered feet with ropey white streams that seem never ending as he twitches and pulses and loses grip on any coherent thought.  
  
Rick falls forward, leaning hard on the desk underneath him as the final shocks of his orgasm slowly die down and Daryl follows, fanning over Rick’s back and keeping them connected as they both pant and their muscles quiver. They rest together until Daryl begins to soften up, slowly slipping from the heat of Rick’s body and he pulls back to give Rick space to reach down and start pulling his clothes back up his legs. By the time Rick straightens back up, Daryl has managed to tuck himself away, produced an oil covered rag and is wiping the worst of Rick’s come off his knuckles with an almost sheepish look on his flushed face like he hadn’t just given Rick the best fuck he’s had in far too long.  
  
“S’a washroom out back,” Daryl says, nodding towards the open door behind the desk and slipping his arms back into the coveralls. Rick watches Daryl’s stomach muscles ripple as he contorts, pulling his clothes back on and refastening the zip, leaving it open enough to show off his sharp collarbones.  
  
“Yeah, thanks,” Rick manages to say before taking off in search of a sink to splash water over his face and run his wet fingers through his hair. He glances in the mirror once he’s sufficiently clean and can’t help but grin at his completely fucked out features, swollen lips, a hint of stubble burn and heavy lidded eyes. He spends a moment or two straightening out his shirt and redoing the buttons before heading back to the office where he finds Daryl fully dressed once more, papers in one hand and Rick’s keys in the other.  
  
“She’s all yers,” Daryl says offering out the keys for Rick to take. “Can send ya the invoice if ya like, or ya can come back n settle up any day ‘cept Sunday, we ain’t open Sundays.” He explains as he heads over to pull the blinds back up, dousing the room in bright sunlight once more and moving to unlock the door.  
  
“I’d still like to take you for that beer Daryl,” Rick says moving closer and placing a hand on Daryl’s arm. _There’s no way we’re not doing that again_ . “Any chance you’re free this weekend?”  
  
Daryl pauses looking down at the hand clutched tight around his arm and gnawing on his lip with a flash of tongue and pristine white teeth against thin pink skin. “M’free Saturday?” He offers hesitantly.  
  
Rick lets a sly grin flash across his face before pulling his hand back and makes for the door. “Meet me at The Lot at eight.” Then he pulls the door wide, turns to look back at the man now standing beside the desk and adds, “Bring the bike.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who is wondering or just want something pretty to look at, this is mechanic Daryl. Enjoy...
> 
>  
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> http://img.wennermedia.com/article-leads-feature/m0716_ft_reedus_a-63310dc8-4cf2-41f6-a9d9-1f4d8afe5088.jpg


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